Grim’s eyes snapped open as hands shook him. Edgar’s face greeted him. Grim groaned as his head pounded. Sleep filled the corners of his eyes and Edgar wouldn’t stop fucking shaking him. “God Damnit I’m up. What the hell do you want?” It was then that Grim noticed Edgar was in full battle dress.

Grim leapt to his feet. “What happened?”

Edgar shrugged. “Don’t know. Urgent summons from the Marshal. Messenger damn near killed his horse, riding it up the switchbacks.”

“Shit. Doesn’t he have his own soldiers?”

“They’re probably not as fun to wake up an hour before sunrise.”

Grim sighed.

An hour later Grim was approaching the gates to the Greencloak fortress. A man hung from the gatehouse by a noose. He appeared more a skeleton than a man. Yellow teeth were bared in an eternal grin on a lipless face. Where his nose should have been, there was only blackened flesh and a pair of slits. Bloody pools marked where his eyes were recently removed. Grim passed the corpse without a second look. One of the men behind him smacked the feet, sending the corpse swinging like a pendulum.

The army within the walls was in motion. On either side of the road, Greencloaks were gathering weapons, donning armor and forming ranks. It looked as if they were preparing for a battle. Grim slowed his march and looked to Edgar. “Any ideas?”

Edgar shrugged. “I don’t think they’d invite us here if they were going to storm the castle so it’s got to be something with the Sons.”

Grim nodded, brow furrowed. They passed the wrought iron gate and marched through the winding garden path to the fountain. A large group of officers were gathered before it. The Marshal leaned over a small wooden table bearing a map and a helmet. He was dressed for battle. A full coat of bronze plates, inlaid with gold covered him from shoulders to knees. To his right and left the man’s officers crowded around.

At Grim’s approach the Marshal looked up from the map. “You’re late.”

Grim scowled at the man. “What’s happening?”

Harren answered. “If you were here an hour ago, you’d already know, Bastard.”

Longreen waved him down. “Save it for the real enemy.” He turned to Grim. “One of our prisoners broke. Told us everything he knew. The Sons cower beneath the earth like rats and today we flush them out.”

Grim walked closer to the table and glanced at the map. It was a detailed rendering of Bleakridge from the Outwalls to the castle. A dozen small X’s were scattered beyond the city wall. One great X was within the city walls, a mere six city blocks from this very fort. The X was circled as if its very presence didn’t already catch the eye. Grim fingered his axe. “Has this all been confirmed?”

“Do you take me for a fool? Last night your father abandons me mid-discussion and now you insult me. My patience with your family runs thin. Be quiet and do as you are told.”

Grim swallowed. He had been considering telling the man about the Son’s presence at the party last night. Grim did as he was told. He kept quiet.

***

The preparations for the assault were hurried, but still took over an hour to prepare as officers were drilled on the route to their targets and the soldiers were formed up before the gates. Grim was assigned to the manse in the inner city. He and his men would accompany Longreen and a company of three hundred Greencloaks. Apparently, fodder was needed for where they expected the heaviest resistance.

It alarmed Grim how little they knew of what to expect beyond the doors of each building, but the Marshal was convinced they needed to act before news spread beyond the walls. Surprise combined with overwhelming strength would lead them to victory.

Grim let out a slow sigh as he shifted his weight from his right foot to his left. He had long since returned to where his men waited in the garden. His presence among the officers was neither wanted nor acknowledged beyond the occasional reprimand.

To Grim’s right, Edgar stood, tapping the toe of his boot impatiently. “Gods I hate this part.”

“Me too. Just want to get it over with.” Grim glanced at Edgar. “You ever been in a fight like this?”

“Not against Sons. A few years ago, I fought off an Islander raid with Captain Roland. First time I saw the Sorrow of rain. Poor fucker was tied to the ceiling, slit from cock to chin, his wife huddled in a ball naked beneath him. Asked me to kill her. Did it herself the next day.”

“And yet we’re here killing each other instead of those monsters.”

“And yet,” Edgar agreed. “To be fair, we started that feud.”

Grim shook his head. “We ended it.”

“Four horns in the last week. They’re up to something.”

Grim didn’t answer. He watched as the green-clad nobles patted each other on the back and clasped arms. Slowly, they began to separate from the table. It was time. As the Marshal passed him, Grim fell into line behind the man. He raised his fist into the air, elevating two fingers. His men fell in behind him in two columns. As they passed through the gardens, Grim ran a hand over the dent in his breastplate. He donned his helmet.

The small army was assembled in the courtyard. Near twenty-five hundred men in neat ranks. At least half a legion. It seemed the Marshal wasn’t holding back. Grim followed the man to the gates where a white horse waited in front of a large contingent of Greencloaks. The men fidgeted with their equipment but straightened to attention when they caught sight of the officers walking between them to the head of their commands.

Grim raised a clenched fist to signal his men to halt while the Marshal mounted his horse in a swift, practiced motion. The man pulled the reins of his mount and turned to regard the assembled men. He locked eyes with each officer, giving each man a nod. Except for Grim of course. Then he turned to the pair of Greencloaks by the gate. The two men didn’t hesitate, hauling the great double doors open. The first regiment immediately broke out into a jog, pouring through the gate and rushing to their target. Cries of surprise sounded from outside at the sudden outpouring of men. Longreen instructed them to move faster than news could travel. Grim felt bad for the men who had to run to the Outwalls. That was quite a trek.

Longreen’s company was the last to leave. The man’s eyes fell upon him and Grim signaled an advance. He broke into a slow jog, on the heels of the last man in the previous regiment. The gate passed over head and he was on the streets. Greencloaks poured through the city in all directions while terrified townspeople huddled against walls, struggling to keep out of their way. Grim ran straight ahead, his armor clacking with every step. He found the daily sparring he was required to participate in tiresome, but today he was glad for it. He didn’t think he could maintain this pace in full armor without it.

Every muscle in his body was tense as he waited for an arrow to slam into him from one of the houses. Nothing about this was right and here he was, charging headlong into it. Grim gritted his teeth and kept running, the thunder of boots echoing behind him. Grim reached the area marked on the map and signaled a halt. The thump of boots slowed and then ceased.

Hooves clattered on the cobblestone as Longreen rode nearer to Grim. He looked down at Grim then to a large gated manse, unremarkable from the others in the affluent neighborhood. But Grim supposed that was the point. He took a deep breath.

“Breach it and my men will follow,” Longreen said.

Grim nodded and released his breath. He turned to Edgar. “Take a dozen men through the back. I’ll take the front.”

Edgar saluted fist over heart and gathered a dozen men, leading them to the gate. It swung open without any resistance. Grim followed behind the Captain with the rest of the men, peering into the windows. The glass was mottled making it hard to see through, but there were definitely shadows moving in there. His men took up positions along the wall of the house by the windows and front door without direction. His father trained them well. Grim dashed to the door and leaned against the wall next to it, axe drawn. He was the best armored, so he would go first and face whatever was on the other side.

Grim locked eyes with the man across from him. The soldier’s knuckles were white along his axe. The shuffling of boots went quiet as everyone waited for Grim’s order. Grim slowly pulled the door latch, it clicked open and that unsettled Grim more than anything.

Then the door exploded, flying off its hinges as a battering ram crashed through the wood. The head of the ram snapped Grim’s shield and wrenched his arm to the side. Then the door slammed into him, sending him flying a half-dozen paces across the yard. Grim landed beneath the wood with a grunt.

The sound of breaking windows and snapping wood exploded into being. The wood above Grim creaked as it was levered off him. One of his men heaved it to the side and offered Grim a hand. The twang of longbows sounded and the man above him went down in a spray of blood. Grim’s heart raced as he clambered to his feet and charged back to the doorway. Behind him, the Greencloaks roared a battle cry and followed.

The sounds of battle were in full swing. As he entered the house, Grim discarded his shattered shield and took his axe in both hands. Ten of his men were fighting in the entryway before a great stairwell. A half dozen more were on the ground, arrows sticking from them like pincushions. Archers stood on the stairs, sending arrows into the melee raging in the foyer.

Grim charged forward, using his bulk and armor to bull through the melee. Curses sounded as Grim crashed through a pair of Sons. He stuck the point of his axe into one’s throat. he didn’t stop to bother with the other. An arrow slammed into him as he took to the stairs. It deflected harmlessly, but the force nearly flipped him on his back.

Grim roared and rushed the first archer, noticing the veins in the man’s eyes were jet black. The man dropped his bow and tried to draw the dagger at his waist. Too slow. Grim’s axe cleaved into his shoulder, snapping bone and sending the man to his knees.

Grim wrenched the axe out, sending the man’s corpse tumbling down the stairs. Bows clattered to the floor as the remaining three archers drew blades. One man thrust at him, a clumsy, slow attack. Grim dodged, grabbing his wrist. He yanked hard, sending the man into the midst of the melee behind them. Grim deflected the next blow with an armored forearm and rammed his spike into the man’s gut.

The man didn’t seem to notice, continuing to slash wildly at Grim, a manic grin splayed across his face. Chills of fear ran down Grim’s spine. He wrenched the axe out, ducked a swing and crushed the blade into the man’s knee. He crumpled to the floor, rolling down the stairs.

The fallen Son grabbed Grim’s leg as he tumbled. Grim crashed to his side along the stairs. The remaining arched leaped atop him, pinning Grim’s axe beneath his feet. He wrenched Grim’s helmet up with one hand, exposing his throat. With the other, he drew back for a killing blow. Grim’s dagger was faster, slicing the tendons in the hand holding his helmet.

Blood poured into Grim’s mouth as the Son’s blade grated along his faceplate. Grim struck his dagger through the man’s throat. The Son kept fighting, trying to strangle Grim but he was weak. Grim threw the dying man from atop him.

As Grim sat up, the battle beneath the stairs was concluded by the arrival of the Greencloaks. They poured through the house like ants, scattering through the downstairs. Grim gasped at his brief reprieve. The air smelled of blood, shit, and hard liquor. Broken bottles were everywhere. And all the wood in the house was mottled with stains. It looked as if a great party had been thrown and nobody bothered to clean up.

The voice of the Marshal snapped Grim back to reality. “Grim get off your ass and clear the upstairs.”

Grim grimaced behind his helmet and rose to his feet. Edgar and the men from the back had joined up with what was left of Grim’s breaching force. Of the thirty men he brought, only ten were left standing. He told half to see to the wounded and signaled the rest to follow him. They cleared the rooms one at a time, kicking the door in and charging inside. Every empty room was a relief beyond words, followed by the dread of the next door. The rooms were strangely bare, as if they had been ransacked and hurriedly emptied. The smell of stale booze turned Grim’s stomach, bringing back unfortunate memories.

Every room was clear save for the final great double doors at the far side of the house. Grim took a deep breath and burst inside. There was a man inside sitting atop a fallen cask the cask had its cork pulled and a golden-brown liquid leaked out across the floor. He leaned backward against the wall, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a torch in the other.

Grim’s stomach dropped with the torch. The flames hit the floor and spread across the room in a wash of blue flame. The man drank deeply from the bottle as the flames engulfed him. “Run!” Grim screamed, pushing back against his men as the flame raced toward them. Broken glass crunched beneath their feet as they raced the flames. Grim more fell than ran down the stairs.

He clambered to his feet before the Marshal. The man furrowed his brow at Grim. “What the hell are you doing. There are tunnels down-” he cut off as he caught sight of the flames devouring the alcohol-drenched wood.

Grim grabbed the man by his helmet, forcing Longreen to look at him. “Recall your men. We need to get the hell out of here.”

The Marshall opened his mouth to respond when a deep rumbling sound echoed like thunder from beneath them. Like a gaping maw, the earth opened up beneath them. Grim screamed as he fell, and the house collapsed around him, the wood above rapidly catching flame.

He thudded against loose dirt. Something writhed beneath him. Grim ignored it and curled into a ball as wood came crashing to the ground around him. He shut his eyes tight, screaming until the rumbling ceased and all that remained were the screams of other men. He opened his eyes and acrid smoke burned them, causing tears to spill down his soot-streaked face. Something writhed beneath him again and Grim looked down.

They were hands. Dozens of hands sprouted from the ground like a field of weeds, spasming as the owners struggled to escape their dirt prison. Grim dug frantically at the earth, trying to reach them. The smoke made him cough violently and he soon realized he had more pressing concerns. He was in a wooden tomb and he could see the flicker of flames a dozen paces from him through the debris.

Grim started banging on the wood, screaming for help.

“Grim,” A voice called from inside the wood.

Grim turned to it and saw the Marshal struggling to escape from beneath a pile of wood. Blood dripped freely from his lips.

Grim stared at the man.

“Please,” the Marshal begged.

If the man died, there would be consequences for more than just him. Grim swallowed his hate and crawled to the man’s side. With all his strength, Grim heaved at the pile of wood atop the man’s legs. It budged only a fingers width, but that was enough for the man to scurry out from under and into the grasping hands of dying men.

With the Marshal free, Grim returned to banging on the wood above him and trying to pry it free. He choked on the smoke. It was getting hard to breathe. Nothing would budge. A part of his mind knew that he was more likely to bring it all crashing down on his head than find a path to freedom, but logic was crushed beneath primal panic.

Grim surrendered and fell to the ground, watching as one by one, the hands stopped twitching. His gaze drifted to the Marshal. The man’s right leg was badly mangled from the collapse. Longreen spat blood while Grim stared at him. The Marshal met his gaze.

“Thinking about killing me?”

“Always,” Grim confided.

The man grinned and wheezed a choking cough. He looked toward the raging fire, growing ever closer. “Divines, I just wanted to get out of this hellhole. Saw my chance to finally send the King some good news.” Longreen sighed. “Now I’m going to die here.”

The chopping of axes sounded from above.

“Think they’ll make it?” Longreen asked, coughing as the smoke grew thicker.

Grim shrugged, then an axe split through the roofing above their heads. Smoke spilled out the gap like a chimney.

Grim coughed some more and banged against the wood. “Right here! The Marshal is here!” he screamed.

Muffled voices sounded above him, and the hacking of axes redoubled. Beams of sunlight shined down on them as axes crunched through the wood. The Marshal hacked more blood onto the ground as Grim coughed. His throat burned, and the heat was stifling. His sweat was starting to evaporate faster than he could make it.

With a crash, a large piece of wood fell to the ground before him. Grim looked up to see Edgar with a half dozen Greencloaks. The man leaned over the edge of the gap, reaching his hand down into the pit.

Grim scrambled to the Marshal. The man was scooting away from the far wall which was now wreathed in flames. Grim grabbed him and wrapped the man’s arm around his shoulder. He heaved Longreen to his feet. The effort of it made Grim’s head spin as he staggered to the wall by Edgar. “Take him,” Grim ordered. Edgar nodded and grabbed Longreen’s arm as Grim pushed the heavily armored man into the air.

Grim’s legs shook as the Greencloaks helped haul Longreen out. The man’s feet disappeared over the edge. Then Edgar reappeared, hand reaching into the pit. The fire wreathed the wood to Grim’s left and right. He knew it would soon engulf the wall Edgar leaned over. Grim struggled for air, but there was none.

Edgar screamed his name and Grim realized he was looking up at him from his back. Black smoke obfuscated Grim ‘s vision, seeming to sear his eyes as the flames grew hotter around him. Boots crashed into the dirt next to Grim, snapping one of the dead hands. Edgar reached under Grim’s arms and hauled him up, dragging him to the small stretch of wall not burning. Edgar heaved Grim up against the wall.

The Greencloaks looked down at them, seeming uncertain. “Help them damnit,” Longreen ordered. The men snapped into action. Grim raised a shaky hand in the air and a man clasped it, pulling him upwards. As he was pulled over the edge, the taste of fresh air met his lips. Grim wheezed in great lungfuls of air.

Down the street, townsfolk were starting to race toward the flaming wreckage, buckets of water in hand. Fire was a danger to everyone. Behind him, Edgar screamed. Grim looked over his shoulder. The Greencloaks were cursing as they pulled Edgar from the wreckage. The shirt under his mail had caught fire. Edgar rolled in the dirt of the yard, trying to douse the fire. A woman from the street dumped a bucket of water on him. The flames disappeared, and Edgar lay on the ground moaning.

A pair of Greencloaks pulled Grim and the Marshal across the street and out of the chaos. They commandeered a bucket of water for the Marshal to drink. Grim supposed he would just have to make do. He watched the conflagration rage, wondering if any more of his men had survived.

The Marshal tapped his arm and Grim turned to look at him. Longreen offered the bucket. “Drink.”

Grim accepted it and gulped water. Nothing had ever felt so good. He drank so fast he choked on it. He coughed, then leaned back against the wall behind him, gasping. Horns sounded in the distance along with the sound of galloping hooves and marching boots. Grim looked to the castle. Sun shined from the armor of thousands of Thorne soldiers marching from the castle. Grim stared. He couldn’t remember the last time his father raised their banners.

The fire still raged and Grim could tell it was getting out of hand. The wind was blowing it onto the houses next door and flaming debris was scattered all across the street. Grim struggled to his feet. He was dizzy but found he could stand. He staggered over to where a passingThorne patrol had dragged Edgar. The man lay next to five more of his men, all wounded in some fashion.

Edgar had removed his shirt and mail. The flesh along the right of his waist and ribs was red and peeling. His eyes were tightly shut in pain and the veins in his throat bulged. Grim collapsed next to the man. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but thank you.”

“Fuck you.”

Grim smiled. He reached to his singed cloak and undid the golden briar brooch. Soot covered the spines, tarnishing the gold. Grim blew on it as best he could. He stared at the brooch for a long moment. Grim placed the briar in Edgar’s hand. I want you to have this.

Edgar’s eyes opened to look at what he held. His eyes widened. “Can you give this to me?”

“I’m a Thorne, and it’s mine to give.”

Edgar grimaced as he sat up. Grim put a hand on his chest. “What the hell are you doing. Lay down.”

“I have to take the oath.” Edgar’s words carried a sense of finality that Grim couldn’t argue. He removed his hand and helped Edgar to his feet. Grim held out his hand and Edgar returned the briar brooch. Grim regarded it solemnly for a moment before dragging a spine of the briar across his palm. Blood welled up from the cut. Grim squeezed his hand over the brooch and let the droplets fall across its face.

Grim looked to Edgar. “Kneel.”

Edgar knelt.

“Give me your hand.”

Edgar reached out his hand and Grim placed the brooch in his palm.

Edgar grasped it tightly without hesitation. The sharp thorns on the brooch pierced his skin and blood dripped freely from his hand.

Grim paused a moment in trepidation. He’d seen it done over a dozen times, but this was the first he’d ever spoken the words himself. He forced himself to speak, “Do you swear to serve our Order until the Reaper takes you?”

“I do.”

“Will you uphold the law in my name and that of my descendants.”

“I will”

“Will you honor the Reaper in all her glory and do her work in my name?”

“I will.”

“Would you stand by my side against the darkness in men’s souls?”

“I would.”

Grim nodded slowly. “Then rise.”

Edgar rose to his feet and unclenched his fist which was now covered in blood. Grim put a hand on the man’s shoulder while Edgar stared at the bloody brooch.